"This is our worst nightmare."

Well, where to start. I've quite possibly had the worst three days of my career. Tuesday was the Major Fuck Up That Shall Not Be Named, Wednesday I got spanked over it (hello, I'm not your scapegoat!), and Thursday . . . drum roll please
. . . the Major Fuck Up happened again with our other magazine. What are the odds?!

So I spent Thursday morning waiting to be fired, but it didn't happen. Since I'm not stupid enough to be the root of two mirror catastrophies, I think I might be off the hook a little. But the day was excruciating nonetheless. And since I have the habit of replaying events in my head over and over again with obsession, I conducted imaginary conversations where I made impassioned defense after defense to my bosses as to why the Fuck Up was not my fault.

Utterly defeated emotionally and psychologically, I bought a lot of beer (the very yummy Eye of the Hawk) from the organic bodega by my place, drank said beer, and then went to the pub to drown my sorrows in cheap tequila and hang out with the owners, James and Kelly, and other assorted artists/photographers. The booze caused me to wake up at 4 am and since I was unable to get back to sleep, I got to obsessively relive the past three days some more.

Let us all take a deep deep breath.

* * *

Today was my job interview for a design position in midtown. How's that for contrast? My life is a roller coaster. I think it went well, liked the work that they are doing, and I liked the design director there. So I just hope that I can get the hell out of my current position on my own terms.